


In the Small Hours

by BlueTwo



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Post-Time Skip, mother hen Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, touch-starved Claude von Riegan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23565403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueTwo/pseuds/BlueTwo
Summary: Claude ignores his limits. Lorenz doesn't.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 113





	In the Small Hours

**Author's Note:**

> a twitter request for touch-starved claude from claude's pov

Finally dismissed, the Alliance generals are quick to abandon the war room accompanied by the screech of chairs and sighs of relief. Once again the strategy meeting has run late— into dinner. With rations coming up shorter and shorter, no one is eager to be the last to the dining hall. 

That, however, is a lesser concern than the many heavy on Claude’s shoulders. He’ll figure something out later he tells himself, and stays hunched over the table, annotating his notes with sharp scratches of his quill.

Time passes and the hour grows late, forcing him to light a candle to see the stacks of reports he should sift through by morning.

The years have not made him complacent, nor have the bonds he’s forged with his former classmates; he has never stopped keeping a wary eye out, a last-ditch trick up his sleeve. But he must be more exhausted than he realized, because a plate clinks against the wood of the table at his elbow. 

Panic grips him. He jumps in his seat, then scrambles to right himself before the heavy chair can topple. Instead, a pair of long-fingered, genteel hands wrap around the stiles and steady it once more on the ground. Claude catches his breath and leans back into the hard press of the wood, closing his eyes. 

“For a second, I thought all those ghost stories I’d told Lysithea were true,” he says, and cracks an eye open to squint at the intruder.

“It would serve you right,” Lorenz scoffs, leaning a hip against the table and crossing his arms. “But working for hours without pause is punishment enough. I cannot chastise you properly when you are in such a pitiable state. Eat.” 

Claude shifts against the chair, suddenly aware of how stiff he is. The food next to him is, somehow, still steaming, fresh despite the kitchens closing down hours ago. Lorenz has piled the plate high with a healthy dollop of vegetables, a slab of succulent meat. Such luxuries are hard to procure on the best days. Lorenz seems to sense his skepticism, as Lorenz is able to sense _so_ much about him— for he says pointedly, “Is it not to your liking?”

“No, but it _is_ more than I expected. We aren’t due for the next shipment of fresh beef until the second week of the month.” 

Lorenz’s careful façade cracks slightly, revealing a soft blush across his nose like a smattering of rose-petals. “Only the best for the leader of the Alliance. Especially if he insists on working himself to death into the wee hours of the night.”

Claude bites back a smile and reaches out, plucking a chunk of carrot from the plate with his bare hand.

Squawking in disgust, Lorenz swats at him. Claude dodges him easily, and tosses the carrot up to catch in his mouth. “I did bring you a fork!” he says.

“And that was very generous of you,” Claude tells him as he takes another piece with his hand.

Lorenz drags a hand down his face. “You are impossible.” 

“It’s one of my virtues,” Claude agrees. With Lorenz before him and unguarded like he is during daylight hours, Claude studies tired sag of his shoulders, the loose, thin lawn of his white shirtsleeves and plain trousers without all their usual corsetry and ribbons. His daily regalia and haughty demeanor have been exchanged for something lighter, softer. Those long lashes drag heavily with each beat against his cheek, dark enough that they match the smears of shadow beneath his eyes. Claude isn’t the only one who has been putting in extra hours. “Your duty has been admirably fulfilled,” he says, gesturing to the plate. “Get some rest. Duke’s orders.”

Lorenz’s knuckles cover his mouth but its unhappy turn is blatant in the disapproving angle of his brow. When he drops his hand, it alights on the arm of Claude’s chair instead. Like prey in a hunter’s sights, Claude goes perfectly still. “You cannot expect me to sleep peacefully knowing you are running yourself ragged.” 

Under Lorenz’s thoughtful, penetrating gaze, Claude tries to squirm away from where the irresistible spread of his fingers is too close. “I don’t expect anything of you,” he says, perhaps too honestly.

“I wish you would,” Lorenz murmurs, and reaches down to cup Claude’s face.

Claude’s breath leaves him as his eyes fall shut, the gentle heat of Lorenz’s palm like the comfort of a hot bath. An elegant thumb unfurls to stroke along his cheekbone, tender against the evidence of his own exhaustion. He melts under it despite the instinct to harden, presses closer despite the desperate need to pull away. To trust is hard-won, but to touch? That is something even Claude, with all his contradictions and confines, craves.

“Either come with me to bed, or allow me to assist you,” Lorenz says, dropping his hand. Claude nearly whimpers and follows it for more, but twenty years of self-control keep him steady. 

“Come with you to bed, eh?” he teases, his voice entirely too light for the lead in his chest and the desperation in his gut. “You drive a hard bargain, Lorenz.” 

A blaze lights over that noble face like a brilliant sunrise, bright enough that the lone, dripping candle at their side is extraneous. “I did not— That is, I—” he stumbles, putting space between them that Claude oh-so contradictorily wishes he would close. Eventually, he gathers himself with a stern puff of his nose and narrowed eyes. “You know precisely what I meant, von Riegan.”

“I did,” he says, pushing out of his chair and cracking his back with a groan. Lorenz steps back yet again, arms crossed tight over his chest even as his gaze devours him from head to toe. Claude twists away under the pretense of stretching; in truth, he needs a moment to quell the longing in his chest.

When he faces Lorenz properly, he gathers the documents under one arm, and the candlestick with the other. “Be a doll and grab the food for me?” He nods towards the plate. “My hands are full.” 

“ _Your_ hands are full,” Lorenz mutters under his breath, then continues louder in disbelief: “I am not your maid, need I remind you!” But even so, he dutifully lifts the plate and falls into step at Claude’s side as they head back to their rooms.

“Of course not,” Claude says. “But you’d look good in the outfit.”

“ _Hush_ ,” Lorenz hisses, and puts a guiding press to the small of Claude’s back. It takes everything in Claude’s power not to sink into it. “See if I come to your aid again after this!”

Claude grins and lets himself lean into the sharp angle of Lorenz’s shoulder, both of them comfortable with the truth.


End file.
